Tag: push yourself Page 2 of 3

Doug and I only dated for a few weeks, all told. He had wooed me, bringing me flowers, giving me compliments. After being rejected by Chris, it was a nice change to feel wanted and adored.

Our relationship turned physical pretty quickly. Looking back, that was my error; I had assumed that because he was younger than I was, he was more innocent, too. But I learned Doug was very skilled in the art of manipulation.

Chris and I had never had sex. We loved each other, but we just never got to that point – it never seemed necessary. Sure, there was a lot of making out (top of my list of favorite things, remember?) and a fair amount of heavy petting, but we were both still virgins when we broke up.

Knowing what I know now, Doug’s behavior was classic sociopath. He zeroed in on me, sensing my vulnerability and my need to see the good in others. He turned every situation to his advantage, making other people think that when he got in trouble, it wasn’t his fault. I caught him in a couple of lies but he gaslighted me into believing I was paranoid or overreacting.

I liked kissing Doug. I liked the way he made me feel, the things he whispered in my ear. He wanted to have sex, be the first for each other, but I wasn’t quite ready. He was disappointed but ultimately understanding each time I put on the brakes. But that didn’t stop him from trying to push things just a little farther every time we were together.

We had gotten a hotel room to ring in New Year’s Eve with our friends – well, the parent of one of our friends got the room. None of us was old enough. There was plenty of alcohol, the really horrible stuff that got you drunk quickly and made you sick the next day. The whole night, Doug and I hadn’t been actually fighting, but he had been distant and quiet. When I pressed him about it, he shrugged it off. He finally told me that he was so crazy about me and couldn’t stop thinking about touching me, and that I was making him miserable by saying no. Didn’t I love him?

Damn, he was good.

I had been drinking plenty of orange Mad Dog and was feeling pretty amorous. As the night wore on and I thought about it more and more, that addled, drunk teen brain was convinced that Doug really loved me, that I really wanted to have sex – and to have sex with him – and that I was finally  READY.

So, when I whispered coyly into his ear that I wanted him, he unceremoniously pulled me into the bathroom and we proceeded to fuck quickly and uncomfortably on the hotel bathroom counter, with everyone in the other room knowing exactly what was going on behind that door.

Not my proudest moment.

After that night, he became even more and more distant. There was always something else he had to do rather than take me out, or he couldn’t stay on the phone with me for more than a few minutes. There were no more flowers, no more sweet nothings in my ear. In their place arose hurtful criticisms disguised as backhanded compliments. He resorted to name-calling – nothing really hurtful, but instead of calling me sweetie or babe he started calling me dork and loser. All under the cloak of quirky terms of endearment.

I got off work early one weekend and decided to surprise him with dinner. Well, he had a surprise for me, too.

A coworker named Dawn, naked in his bed.

I screamed and yelled and cried and he blamed me for showing up unannounced, for not being more willing and available. He had needs that I wasn’t fulfilling.

What a jackass.

That had been a hard lesson for me to learn. After Doug, I didn’t date for almost a year. When I did, the summer before college, there was very little physical contact. One boy – so sweet and shy and kind – only got hugs on my front porch after our dates. For three months.

The last I had heard of Doug was that he had joined the Navy, following in his old man’s footsteps. I had convinced myself that I’d never have to see him again and had taken great comfort in that thought.

And yet, here he was. Leaning in too close, telling me sexist and dirty jokes. He never realized that I had been giving him the death glare for a solid five minutes.

He stumbled forward, pushing himself up against me and breathing heavily.

“Come on, Alexis, let’s get out of here. Relive some old times? Give me a chance to remind you what it’s like to be with a REAL man.”

Kelly materialized out of nowhere, throwing her arm around me and squeezing herself between me and Doug.

“Lex! Where’s the freaking wine? I’m dying over here!”

She paid the bartender, handed me the two glasses, and steered me toward our table with a high-pitched, “Byeeee!” thrown over her shoulder at a drunk and confused Doug.

His ball sack had been saved by Kelly that night, and he never even knew it.

This couldn’t be happening.

Doug had crawled out from under his slimy rock somewhere. I thought I had scraped him off many years ago and had clung to the idea that I’d never have to see his smug face again.

After Chris and I had broken up, I was feeling pretty bad about myself. I turned to my work friends more often – Doug being one of them – and he fit in with everyone pretty well. We had worked together for nearly a year, but it wasn’t until my breakup that we became good friends. We hung out with our work crowd and talked on the phone almost every night. He was a lot of fun and very attentive and, after my devastating heartbreak, was a willing shoulder for me to cry on.

Then things started to change. It was subtle at first; suggesting we go see a movie or that I should come over to hang out. I would always offer to call the rest of our friends to join us, at which point he’d suddenly remember something else he had to do.

One night he confessed that he was in love with me. I laughed it off – he was younger than me, and kind of goofy, even if he was cute and charming. He tried multiple times to convince me we’d make a great couple; we were already close friends, we got along so well, we had fun together – why shouldn’t we take it to the next level? I turned him down over and over. I explained that I valued him as a friend and didn’t want to ruin that. That’s not what he wanted to hear, so he started to withdraw. He wouldn’t take my calls or was monosyllabic when he did.

Soon, he laid down an ultimatum. He wanted to be a couple. If I couldn’t do that, he couldn’t be friends with me. It was too painful for him. At that point, I had been leaning on him a lot for distraction from the sadness of my breakup with Chris, and I didn’t want to lose him. I hemmed and hawed for the weekend and finally agreed to go out on a date.

I cringe every time I think about it. What an idiot I was.

“Alexis, babe, you look pretty good! You’ve definitely aged well…” He sneered at me. “Are you surprised to see me?”

Trying to pass off a grimace as a smile, I hoped the lighting was dim enough he couldn’t tell.

“Doug, if I had a list of the people I least expected to see here tonight, you would be at the top of that list.”

He puffed out his chest and smirked. “Damn straight, I would!”

He would take that as a compliment.

“What have you been up to while I’ve been gone? Hanging around, missing me?” He leaned back and let his eyes wander all over me. I immediately wanted to vomit. “I don’t see a wedding ring…”

“Nope. But I see you have one. Congratulations.”

Like he had just remembered that he was married, he frowned at his hand.

“Oh yeah, that. No big deal. I hung out with Jill for a few months and then she got knocked up when I was home on leave. There was no way I was going to let her raise my kid without me. Marrying her seemed the best way to keep control of the situation and make sure she wasn’t out whoring around.”

My jaw dropped. There was absolutely nothing I could think of to say to that.

The bartender set two shots down in front of Doug and he slid one over to me.

“Come on, let’s celebrate!”

“Celebrate what, exactly?”

He leaned in close so I could smell his cheap cologne and the waves of alcohol on his breath.

“Us running into each other like this, baby. It’s great to see you, but I’d love to see even more of you, if you catch my drift.” He pulled away and winked.

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

“Thanks Doug, but my shot days are well behind me. Please, help yourself.”

With that, he shrugged and downed them both, shaking his arms with a loud, “Whoo!”

“You’re married, huh? And with a baby. Is your wife here?”

He smirked and shook his head slowly.

“Nope. I am free as a bird tonight. When I go out, I don’t want the old ball and chain hanging on me. Jill takes care of the kid and I send her money while I’m out on deployment. When I’m home, she does whatever I want, whenever I want it. Other than that, she doesn’t get into my business.”

I didn’t think it was possible, but Doug had become an even bigger misogynist douche.

I woke up feeling more comfortable and content than I had in months. Nestled against Jamie’s shoulder, I knew it was where I wanted to be.

He opened his eyes and smiled. I loved that smile: The way the corners of his mouth lifted just a little, sleepy eyes taking in all my bedhead glory.

“Hey.” He kissed my forehead. “Coffee?”

“Yes, please!”

I followed him to the kitchen a few minutes later. He was in just his boxers, two steaming mugs already out on the counter while he scrambled some eggs. It was doubtful I’d ever get tired of that sight.

Jamie had been at my door within an hour of getting my call. I hadn’t realized just how much I’d missed him until he was there in front of me.

He had given me a tentative smile, his hands jammed into his pockets and his shoulders tense and hunched.

“I’m glad you called, Lex. I missed you.”

I had no control over the tears that pooled in my eyes – or apparently over my body. I launched myself at him, knocking him back against the door in my need to be near him. We had peeled our clothes off right there in the entryway, making our way to the bedroom an hour later to do it all over again.

“What’s on the agenda for today?”

He shrugged. “Whatever you want. Want to go see the new exhibit at the Art Center? We haven’t been there for months. Or we could scout out some venues. We should know where we’re having the wedding before we decide on the theme or your dress or anything. It might be a tight schedule, but we could still shoot for the original date – ”

I stared at him, my mug frozen halfway to my mouth.

“What?” He looked genuinely confused. My stomach dropped.

“Jamie, I’m not ready yet.”

Setting the spatula on the counter and switching off the burner, he turned his full attention to me. I hated the tightness around his eyes. Actually, I hated myself for putting it there.

“What do you mean? I thought that’s why you called me last night. You talked to your old boyfriend, didn’t you?”

“Well, yeah, but only one.”

He crossed his arms and leaned back against the cupboard.

“You need to talk to every guy you’ve ever dated before you can marry me?”

Rolling my eyes – so I didn’t have to meet his – I muttered, “Not every guy…”

“Alexis, I understand cold feet or wedding jitters, but this feels like something more than that.”

I cast around for a way to make him understand, but all the words I tried out sounded shitty.

“Lex, it – it feels like you’re looking for a better offer.”

“How could you even think that?”

Throwing his hands in the air, he turned back to the stove.

“What else am I supposed to think? After two years together, I ask you to marry me and suddenly now you need closure.” He was slamming plates and utensils onto the countertop as he served up breakfast. “Your timing is bullshit.”

I had to agree with him.

“Jamie, I’m not looking to start something with these other guys. I love YOU. I want to marry YOU. It’s just…I don’t know how to explain it. This is important to me, to put my past to rest so I can build a future with you. A…forever. And to KNOW it’s forever.”

Leaning over the counter he took both my hands in his. He stared at our hands, rubbing his thumbs over my knuckles. I could see the muscles in his jaw clenching as he tried to work out what to say.

When he looked up, the sadness in his eyes was a knife in my chest.

“That’s all I want too, Alexis. A future with you.” He sighed, his shoulders rising and falling. Releasing my hands, he set a plate in front of me, scraping his into the garbage, and walked out of the kitchen. “I guess I’ll have to wait.”

He reappeared half-dressed, carrying the rest of his clothes. Without looking at me, he blew through the room. The door slammed behind him, but I caught his parting words.

“What choice do I have?”

The drive home must have been navigated by muscle memory, because I was far too preoccupied with nostalgia. Memories of Chris flooded my brain, playing like a ‘Greatest Hits’ movie.

I remembered our first kiss, in the laundry room of Kelly’s basement. It wasn’t the first for either of us, but it was ours. Kissing Chris definitely ranked near the top of my list of best things ever.

The first time he told me he loved me, he whispered it softly in my ear. It was a tender and romantic scene – the kind of thing every teen girl dreams about. That is, it was until I blurted out, ‘WHAT?’ because I hadn’t quite caught what he said. He repeated it then – and many times after – but I had already ruined the moment.

At least it was memorable, right?

When I got home, I found my shoebox of high school memorabilia, going for the deep-dive. Some people threw away everything they associated with an ex.

Not me.

I kept nearly everything Chris had given me. Postcards from when his family went on summer vacation; pictures of the two of us from dances or just goofing around; letters he had written me when we were in college. Reading through everything, I was comforted by how kind he had been, how he had made me feel so important. I didn’t want to forget him. I didn’t want to forget the time we spent together. Why would I? Chris was the first boy I ever loved, and part of me would always love him.

Lying on my couch later, staring at the ceiling, I came to a conclusion: While I loved Chris, it wasn’t romantic. My love for him was built of an appreciation for everything we had shared. He was right that our relationship wasn’t supposed to last. That’s not how first loves work.

But god, was I lucky he had been mine.

I picked up my phone to distract myself with some social media stupidity. As the phone came to life, the lock screen picture flashed open and I forgot all about the absurdity of the internet.

Jamie.

His face filled the screen and my heart melted. It had been more than a week since I’d seen him. With one finger, I traced the line of his jaw, the sweep of his bangs over his forehead, the dimples that framed his mouth. He was laughing and reaching for the phone in the shot, trying to stop me from taking his picture.

That was the day he proposed to me.

We had taken a long weekend trip to Scottsdale, trying to escape the frigid Midwestern winter, if only for a few days. Jamie planned a day trip for some hiking and sight-seeing. But before we started the climb, we had been warned by the locals to watch out for snakes. Mainly rattlesnakes.

Jamie had become so paranoid about being murdered by a poisonous reptile that when a rabbit rushed across our path he jumped two feet in the air and screamed like a little girl. I couldn’t stop laughing and had to take a picture of him immediately so I could remind him of that moment long after we had left Arizona.

Laughing almost as hard as I was, he lunged for the phone just as I snapped the photo. I spun out of his reach and he pretended to stumble to the ground. But when I turned, he was on one knee, holding up the most beautiful diamond ring I had ever seen, asking me to share his life.

I couldn’t dial his number fast enough.